about my heroic nature. What to do? I gotta use my powers to save suicidal crazies. If only I could show the girls I could fly … hmmm … gotta go.
Tara replied with a smiley face.
She was still not comfortable in her own skin. Being the only female member of the Nine she was intimidated by the energies of the others. There was the pressure to prove oneself. Tara glanced out of the window. She knew she had to stop overanalysing.
‘Your next patient is here!’ Tara’s assistant informed her through the intercom.
‘Send her in,’ Tara responded. She took a sip of water and adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. She sat in one of the armchairs, the other vacant chair was for her patient. She liked to make them feel comfortable and not have a desk to divide them. Trust was key in any initial meeting. If the patient trusted her, he or she would be willing to accept her advice.
The woman entered. She was short and wore red, which included red shoes. She had applied a dark eye shadow and harsh streaks of liner added a sharp edge to her unsmiling face. At first glance, she looked hideous; an attention-seeker.
‘Ms Swati? Please come in. Have a seat,’ Tara said, indicating the comfortable armchair.
‘No,’ she responded.
‘No?’ Tara asked.
‘I prefer to stand.’
‘Why?’
‘There is no particular reason.’
‘Please tell me, how can I help you?’ Tara asked politely. She appeared relaxed, but was tense. There was an unusual air about the woman, a kind of repressed energy. Standing still and gazing with those eyes, it was almost as if any minute she would lunge at her. Tara probed her mind in those few seconds that she stood silently. Empty. It was more chilling than ever. No one could have no thoughts at all. But there was fear and great pressure. She had turned her mind blank to stop the memories. She had experienced something extremely traumatic.
‘I … I’m not sure if you can help me,’ Swati said stiffly. Then she took a step back, holding her emotions tight to her chest. Tara sensed she was ready to spill, but emotions were a scary part of the human mind, they could manifest violently and cause further distress.
‘Please don’t be afraid. Come, sit down, let’s just chat informally.’
‘Have you ever had a dissatisfied patient, Dr Tara?’
The way she pronounced her name sent a chill down Tara’s spine. But Tara smiled at her. ‘Of course, Ms Swati.’ Tara glanced at the form her patient had filled out at the reception. ‘I’ve had many patients who eventually gave up on me.’ Tara stood up, came closer. ‘But I never gave up on them.’
Swati slowly approached her and sat down.
5
Akash
London
Akash hurried out of the chilly wind, pushed open the glass door and entered his office as the door chimes rattled noisily behind him. ‘Shit!’ he muttered. He hated those tinkling, dangling clusters hanging above the door to his pub. But his personal assistant, Cathy, insisted it was a good-luck charm. The woman was a Chinese feng shui expert—in her own opinion, of course—and she made certain decisions which Akash felt suited her, not the gods of architecture. Cathy was in her fifties, with silver hair cut short and an efficient set of pearls to enhance the plain blouses that she wore over grey or black trousers.
Akash slammed his briefcase down on the long oak bar-table and headed towards the back. His workplace was located in one of his pubs—The Chisel. Cathy was already looking at him with her critical eye, one eyebrow lifted sardonically, as she spoke sweetly over the phone. All this while her manicured fingertips glided efficiently over the keyboard. Akash waved, ignoring her expression, and blew her a flying kiss. She raised both eyebrows. He headed straight to the coffee machine in the corner cubicle. The Nespresso machine was all set to deliver. He savoured the perfect brew from this compact, sleek appliance like he enjoyed the company of
Tara replied with a smiley face.
She was still not comfortable in her own skin. Being the only female member of the Nine she was intimidated by the energies of the others. There was the pressure to prove oneself. Tara glanced out of the window. She knew she had to stop overanalysing.
‘Your next patient is here!’ Tara’s assistant informed her through the intercom.
‘Send her in,’ Tara responded. She took a sip of water and adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. She sat in one of the armchairs, the other vacant chair was for her patient. She liked to make them feel comfortable and not have a desk to divide them. Trust was key in any initial meeting. If the patient trusted her, he or she would be willing to accept her advice.
The woman entered. She was short and wore red, which included red shoes. She had applied a dark eye shadow and harsh streaks of liner added a sharp edge to her unsmiling face. At first glance, she looked hideous; an attention-seeker.
‘Ms Swati? Please come in. Have a seat,’ Tara said, indicating the comfortable armchair.
‘No,’ she responded.
‘No?’ Tara asked.
‘I prefer to stand.’
‘Why?’
‘There is no particular reason.’
‘Please tell me, how can I help you?’ Tara asked politely. She appeared relaxed, but was tense. There was an unusual air about the woman, a kind of repressed energy. Standing still and gazing with those eyes, it was almost as if any minute she would lunge at her. Tara probed her mind in those few seconds that she stood silently. Empty. It was more chilling than ever. No one could have no thoughts at all. But there was fear and great pressure. She had turned her mind blank to stop the memories. She had experienced something extremely traumatic.
‘I … I’m not sure if you can help me,’ Swati said stiffly. Then she took a step back, holding her emotions tight to her chest. Tara sensed she was ready to spill, but emotions were a scary part of the human mind, they could manifest violently and cause further distress.
‘Please don’t be afraid. Come, sit down, let’s just chat informally.’
‘Have you ever had a dissatisfied patient, Dr Tara?’
The way she pronounced her name sent a chill down Tara’s spine. But Tara smiled at her. ‘Of course, Ms Swati.’ Tara glanced at the form her patient had filled out at the reception. ‘I’ve had many patients who eventually gave up on me.’ Tara stood up, came closer. ‘But I never gave up on them.’
Swati slowly approached her and sat down.
5
Akash
London
Akash hurried out of the chilly wind, pushed open the glass door and entered his office as the door chimes rattled noisily behind him. ‘Shit!’ he muttered. He hated those tinkling, dangling clusters hanging above the door to his pub. But his personal assistant, Cathy, insisted it was a good-luck charm. The woman was a Chinese feng shui expert—in her own opinion, of course—and she made certain decisions which Akash felt suited her, not the gods of architecture. Cathy was in her fifties, with silver hair cut short and an efficient set of pearls to enhance the plain blouses that she wore over grey or black trousers.
Akash slammed his briefcase down on the long oak bar-table and headed towards the back. His workplace was located in one of his pubs—The Chisel. Cathy was already looking at him with her critical eye, one eyebrow lifted sardonically, as she spoke sweetly over the phone. All this while her manicured fingertips glided efficiently over the keyboard. Akash waved, ignoring her expression, and blew her a flying kiss. She raised both eyebrows. He headed straight to the coffee machine in the corner cubicle. The Nespresso machine was all set to deliver. He savoured the perfect brew from this compact, sleek appliance like he enjoyed the company of
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